"What we must learn in his yoke, beyond acting with him, is to abandon outcomes to God, accepting what we do not have in ourselves-- in our own 'heart, soul, and mind, and strength'-- the wherewithal to make this come out right, whatever 'this' is. Even if we 'suffer according to the will of God', we simply 'entrust our souls to a faithful creator in doing what is right' (1 Peter 4:19). Now this is a major part of that meekness and lowliness of heart that we also learn his yoke. And what rest comes with it!

Humility is the framework within which all virtue lies. Angela of Folingno observed, 'Our Lord did not say: Learn of me to despise the world and live in poverty... but only this: Learn of me for I am gentle and lowly of heart.' And 'one of the signs by which a man may know he is in a state of grace is this-- that he is never puffed up.' Accordingly, we are to 'clothe [ourselves] with humility,' Peter said (peter 5:5), which certainly means loss of self sufficiency.

'God gives grace to the humble,' he continues. 'Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you at the proper time, casting all of your anxiety upon Him, because he cares for you (v 5-7). Humility is a great secret of rest of soul because it does not presume or secure outcomes.

Here is a simply fact: We live in a world where, by God's appointment, 'the race is not to the swift, and the battle is not to the warriors, and neither is bread to the wise, nor wealth to the discerning, nor favor to men of ability, for time and chance overtake them all' (Ecclesiastes 9:11).

The Lord 'does not delight in the strength of the horse; He does not take pleasure in the legs of man' (Ps 147:10). He has a plan for your life that goes far beyond anything we can work out and secure by means of strong horses and good legs.

We simply have to rest in his life as he gives it to us. Knowledge, from Christ, that He is good and great enables us to cast outcomes on him. We find this knowledge in the yoke of Christ.

Resting in God, we can be free from all anxiety, which means deep soul rest. Whatever our circumstance, taught by Christ we are enabled to 'rest [be still] and wait patiently [or longingly] for him' (ps 37:7). We don't fret or get angry because others seem to be doing better than we are, even though they are less deserving than we."

-- Dallas Willard, "Renovation of the Heart," pp 209-210

humility

how much lifestyle change is going to be required of me? I tearfully put myself to bed last night crying out-- can I do this? Have I made the greatest mistake of my life? Is this what I want? What do I even want? I find myself in a place in life that I don't think I even had time to imagine for myself. What is tomorrow and the everydays after that going to look like?

I live 0.6 miles from Pearl Street. I share an apartment with three people that I hardly know and we are all struggling against the confines of the walls that seem to be closer together than we allowed imagination. I find myself wondering if I am sacrificing all rights to my own domestic whims, putting the placemats and hand towels back in boxes and wondering where I can leave them until I decide what I want out of life-- where I want to settle. Thrift store placemats and and hand-me-down handtowels that once seemed barely enough now feel like luxuries not to be afforded. Compromises for the sake of hurt feelings and a love of natural wood table tops. I find the way of life that has proceeded this to be too large for this small living space. And I wonder what sort of refining process is ahead, wanting not to move again, but unable to pare down everything to one small carload.

I've had a lot of seasons in my short life. the last few years have felt like a large collection of small places, transitions, big movements, big questions. There have been a lot of forced opportunities for starting over. This do-over, however, feels quite different. I find myself in a vast stretch of opportunity for growth and change unlike any other. The distance is larger, the risk is greater, and the payments are higher. I find myself on the brink and yet find myself feeling quite young. Inexperienced. I am daily reminded of my inability to go it alone and each moment find myself whipering prayers for the grace badly needed but out of my own ability to pay back.

Last night, as I navigated the maze of boxes and homeless furniture, I wondered if there can be a limit to the grace of the Father. This week, I've thought often about the quote printed at the top of this very page: "If we are to keep growing, we must risk failure throughout our lives." I've been confronted with the question of whether or not there is any risk we can take that results in a failure too great for the love and redeeming hand of the father. Does he make a way for difficult relationships, for cooperation between selfish people, for rent that is higher than I ever thought I would ever pay, does he make a way to move more often than any person should try to do when they are painters and teachers and find comfort in the stuff that fills thier ever-changing homes? Does he make a way for the things left undone in the midst of my overwhelm over work and time and the damn heat of the summer. Does his forgiveness make a way for him to bail me out when I repeatedly bite off more than he created me to chew? Is there a place when he simply steps back and says, "sorry, this is the sixth time you've had a chance to learn your lesson and I think it's time you suffered a bit more for succumbing to the ways of your over-product-zealous society. I warned you."

But then I suppose he gave the Isrealites 40 years. He knew it would take them this long to shed the slavery within thier hearts. And although it felt like a punishment to these wayward people, it was simply his way of preparing them for the promise of freedom. It takes time. He seems to be eternally patient with our failings. And I suppose the greater the risk that we allow, the greater our understanding of just how big God is. As we grow, we choose ever higher steps to jump from, testing the true strength of his outstretched arms.

Yesterday I drove down through the country to my new school. I am overwhelmed. I was so confident until I actually tried writing down some thoughts about what I was actually going to do. And I sat there across from my mentor teacher feeling very small, very young. I humbly sat across the table feeling somewhat like one of her high school students as she patiently walked me through what I needed to do. And I humbly sat there thinking about how she had introduced me to other teachers on a first-name basis, realizing that these people were now my peers and collegues.

In many ways, I feel myself stradling two worlds, two selves. I am teacher and I am student. I feel prepared, my arm is heavy from a full toolbox of resources, but I am overwhelmed by it. How do I sort it all out in such a way that I know how to speak to students in a way that communicates how important they are while also creating the structure that my authoriative role requires. How do I maintain an honesty with myself about what I really am capable of doing while finding the humility to simply cry out for help. It is, I think, one of life's greatest challenges to find the ability to simply be broken without allowing the possibility of another person's distain to infringe upon the truth of my own worth. And yet, this brokenness is just the honesty that we need for essential growth.

So here I am. Sitting in what I think is going to be one of my favorite spots for thinking, lesson planning, and drinking coffee and struggling against the thought that somehow I am unworthy of this thing I've chosen. I'm fighting the voice that is constantly telling me that it is all too difficult, the voice saying that grace is going to run out too quickly, the voice telling me that my mistakes are too great for the lovend forgiveness of my eternal Father. I'm fighting the voice saying that I ought to be ashamed of my accumulation of earthly possessions, fighting the voice tempting me to despair about the things that are much too unkown. And I'm straining to hear the voice of Truth reminding that he meets us where we are.


HE MEETS US WHERE WE ARE. So here I am. Small and humbled, waiting to see the growth that awaits in this mess of life.